-23 


THE  CYCLE'S  RIM 


THE  CYCLE'S  RIM 


BY 
OLIVE  TILFORD  DARGAN 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1916 


COPYRIGHT,  1916,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  November,  1916 


TO 
ONE   DROWNED   AT  SEA 


387494 


I 


DEEP  lies  thy  body,  jewel  of  the  sea, 

Locked  down  with  wave  on  wave.     Pearl-drift  among 

The  coral  towers,  and  yet  not  thee,  not  thee  ! 

So  lightly  didst  thou  mount,  blue  rung  o'er  rung, 

The  lustred  ladder  rippling  from  that  land 

Of  strangely  boughed  and  wooing  wildernesses. 

Province  of  dream  unwaning,  dream  yet  banned 

From  sleepers  in  the  sun  ;  but  thou,  as  presses 

The  lark  that  feels  his  song,  sped  to  thy  sky. 

0  unrepressed  !    If  thou  wouldst  choose  be  gone, 

What  sea-charm  then  could  stay  thee,  bid  thee  lie 

Too  deep  for  cock-crow  earth  or  heaven's  dawn  ? 

Yet  must  I  chant  these  broken,  mortal  staves, 

And  lay  my  leaf  of  laurel  on  the  waves. 


II 


WHEN  God  has  dropped  his  garlands  to  the  earth, 

And  birds  in  twittering  showers  cry  "Spring,  0 
Spring ! " 

What  heart  among  us  then  knows  not  rebirth, 
Nor  would,  if  harp  were  his,  go  forth  and  sing? 
And  when  again  He  takes  his  garlands  in, 
Baring  the  earth  His  wish  had  warmed  with  rose, 
Till  eyes  that  meet  no  bloom  seem  made  in  vain, 
How  bows  the  heart  and  like  a  mourner  goes  ! 
So  would  I  sing  and  mourn.     Sing  how  Life  wore 
Thee  for  her  Spring,  her  rose,  her  radiance  spread; 
And  mourn — nay  ! — not  for  me  is  moaning  sore, 
Who  see  thee  now  God's  garland  never  dead. 
But  I  will  sing,  and  if  men  smile  and  say 
"  A  Laura  hymns  her  Petrarch,"  so  they  may. 


Ill 


ALAS  !  this  Laura's  lips  are  not  blest  banks 
Where  flows  the  marvel  measure  of  the  stream 

Whose  drops  are  words.     Dumb  peasant,  she  gives 
thanks 

For  any  rough-spun  web  to  dress  her  dream 
And  make  it  visible  to  eyes  that  doubt; 
And  doubting  see  but  air  where  seraph  shape 
Makes  radiant  the  roads  that  wind  about 
Earth's  twilight  fringes  that  too  heavy  drape 
The  striving  lance  of  sight.     But  she,  so  poor 
In  shining  words  that  those  who  hear  must  scoff, 
Bears  in  her  eyes  such  riches,  such  dear  lure 
Of  vision,  that  ere  dies  the  mocker's  laugh, 
She  forward  springs  to  take  thee  by  the  hand, 
Nor  stays  her  joy  till  doubters  understand. 


IV 


THEN  back  through  lifting  arches  of  the  years 

On  arrow  feet  we  run.     The  spent,  prone  days 

Rise  mantling  where  they  dusked.     Sod-sunken  tears, 

That  dropped  as  cypress  brew  upon  these  ways, 

Shine  up  like  eyes  joy-soft.     The  clammy  shade 

Of  forest  doubts  clings  now  like  faith  that  fills 

Cathedral  air  when  holy  touch  is  laid 

On  saintly  kneelers.    Love,  0  love,  what  thrills 

Tremble  from  heart  to  heaven  !    Is  it  ours, 

This  world  where  leaves  and  light  and  faces  all 

Learn  manners  of  the  dove?    This  earth  that  flowers, 

Shallop  of  rose  whose  petals  never  fall? 

Where  we  infolded  sail,  the  stars  our  strand, — 

Our  irised  islands  where  our  dreams  may  land. 


Now  lock  my  eyes  their  lids  and  lose  the  key 

To  every  world  but  that  vast  world  we  found 

When  heaven  was  a  flowering  orchard  tree, 

All  earth  a  tender  ring  of  April  ground; 

For  we  have  come  unto  our  day  of  days, 

When  our  two  souls  and  God  made  trothal  feast; 

Each  apple  spray  an  angel  witness  was, 

Each  still  grass  blade  a  little  waiting  priest; 

Your  words  throbbed  free,  each  one  a  prisoned  bird 

Finding  at  last  the  sky,  till  all  the  air 

Beat  like  a  winged  sea,  and  I  who  heard 

Sat  mute  as  God  who  fell  in  wonder  there. 

He  made  the  sun,  but  Love  had  made  the  word 

That  new  suns  bore  when  He  no  finger  stirred. 


VI 


JOY  is  my  earth  where  I  am  planted  now  ! 
My  roots  drink  of  her  veins  and  thirst  no  more. 
Upward  she  builds  me,  stem  and  gowned  bough, 
And  buds  are  sweet  where  never  bloom  I  bore. 
I  hear  the  waters  rise  in  hidden  springs 
That  are  to  feed  me  from  cool  treasuries 
In  far,  untrampled  lands.     I  hear  the  wings 
That  from  dim  mountains  and  sky-gated  seas 
Shall  nestle  like  caught  wonders  whispering 
My  tremorous  green  more  tremorous  prophecies; 
Till  Dream,  the  venturer,  pause  at  last  to  sing 
And  leave  me  nest  that  never  silent  is. 
Gold  bounty  from  the  sun  I  shall  not  need; 
My  radiance  then  the  needy  sun  shall  feed. 


II 


vn 


THERE'S  topaz  on  the  winds  that  touch  my  hair, 
There's  sapphire  on  the  water  where  my  hands 
Dive  under  ripples,  flirting  with  your  prayer 

"  Drown  not  my  doves  ! "     Flame,  flame,  a  white  flame 
bands 

The  sky,  but  cool  as  purity,  or  snood 

That  binds  a  maid's  dew-dreams.     0  Love,  that  gave 

The  bird  its  wing,  brown  earth  the  quivering  wood, 

The  fish  its  fin,  a  free  sky  to  the  slave, 

And  man  his  God,  give  me  the  song  that  breaks 

Like  buds  from  heart-sod, — darts  with  pollen  flying 

To  lips  of  lyric  bloom,  and  silvery  wakes 

The  trembling  morrows,  sweeter  for  that  crying. 

One  deathless  song,— of  all  thy  gifts  the  crown, — 

Flute-call  of  lovers  till  Time's  sun  go  down. 


11 


VIII 

FORGIVE,  bright  Power,  and  my  suit  forget ! 
My  lute  I  lift,  but  love  that  shone  so  near, 
A  fairy  lantern  in  a  lily  set, 
Now  rides  the  sky,  moon-whirling  Jupiter  ! 
As  one  who  stands  beside  a  breaking  sea 
And  fatuous  strives  with  fainting  voice  to  reach 
Across  the  waves,  where  mild  shores  hidden  be, 
To  charm  the  ear  of  dancers  on  the  beach, 
Would  I  sing  now  if  now  I  sought  to  rhyme 
Love's  ocean-flexures  with  immortal  word 
For  lovers  on  the  shores  yet  waiting  Time; 
But,  keyed  so  frail,  I,  like  that  little  bird 
Whose  song  is  gaily  pitched  above  man's  ear, 
Shall  not  less  happy  sing  though  none  may  hear. 


12 


MY  love  !    Shy  as  the  wonder  in  a  young  deer's  eye, 

Bold  as  a  seer  with  every  riddle  read; 

Swift  as  the  dagger  fire  of  storm's  dusk  sky, 

Loitering  as  light  where  June's  late  lilies  bed. 

Now  is  thy  soul  a  glacier-girdled  lake 

That  never  mirrored  murk  of  human  gaze, 

And  now,  a  rebel  rillet,  'twould  partake 

Of  dusty  joys  by  trundled,  peasant  ways. 

Thou  art  an  ardor  that  would  burn  the  sea; 

Thou  art  the  tremor  of  a  far,  white  sail; 

Thou  art  a  linnet's  dream;  the  poetry 

That  sleeps  in  Asia;  wakes  to  walk  in  mail. 

A  thousand  loves  should  wed  these  thousand  men. 

"  Thou  art  my  thousand  women,"  saidst  thou  then. 


13 


X 


WHY  do  I  love  thee?    Thee,  my  other  wing? 
Sweet  of  the  wild?     My  tree  of  cinnamon? 
Not  for  thine  eyes  where  twilights  wandering 
Lead  me  beyond  the  world  past  any  sun 
Whose  arrows  query  after.     Not  for  pearls 
Within  thy  voice,  that  bring  with  them  the  sea 
They  could  not  leave;  nor  thy  low  laugh  that  curls 
Soft  captor  rings  round  fireside  mystery; 
Nor  faun  in  thee  that  seeks  a  forest  goal 
Hid  in  my  heart;  nor  hermit's  shade  and  tent 
Thou  makest  of  thine  arms  for  my  bare  soul 
When,  stripped  of  vision,  there  I  creep  forspent. 
Nay,  I  know  not.     Thus  is  my  love  defended 

'Gainst  ambushed  Time.     Know,  and  love's  day  is 
ended. 


14 


XI 


THE  cloud-dropped  shadow  over  meadows  moving, 

Whose  double  in  the  sky  so  whitely  rides, 

Takes  shape  and  being,  slow  or  swiftly  roving, 

But  as  its  high  begetter  shapes  and  guides. 

So  hearts  are  meadows  for  love's  ever-passing; 

Unmortal  shadow,  mould  and  motion  given 

By  regent  substance  high  above  possessing, 

Unalterable  save  by  a  change  in  heaven. 

And  I  am  not  as  bold  astronomers 

Who  name  all  planets  in  that  heaven  moving, 

Which  loosens,  binds,  which  speeds  and  which  deters; 

Love  knows  them  not  who  know  the  why  of  loving. 

Their  hearts  are  free;  if  ever  by  love  tied, 

Their  maps  will  be  forgot  or  stout  denied. 


15 


XII 


AH  well,  we  know  the  universe  we  know 

A  sandgrain  is  unto  the  one  that  has 

No  boundary  in  thought,  and  all  the  show 

That  science  makes  is  as  a  juggler's  pass 

Outside  the  circus  door  of  wonders.    Spheres 

Fly  animate  with  aim,  while  man  doth  make 

His  genial  plaudits  that  awake  no  ears 

Beyond  his  own;  at  his  breath's  end  they  break. 

Truth  is  the  planet's  eye,  but  yet  is  faith 

Her  mighty  telescope,  uncovering  all 

The  formless  outworlds,  till  the  Whisperer  saith 

"There  lie  my  bower-lands;  let  go  this  ball." 

Yet  in  one  heart  we  wall  His  globed  demesne, 

Nor  need  of  windows  when  we've  all  within. 


16 


Ill 


xm 


I'VE  built  for  Love  a  cabin  on  the  cliffs, 

And  in  the  door  he  sits  with  moody  wings 

At  rest  from  flight.     Here  all  his  tiffs 

Are  with  the  winds  and  stars  and  soaring  things, 

While  in  and  out  an  eager  slave  I  go, 

Now  at  the  hearth,  now  making  white  the  floor, 

Now  to  the  table  pass  with  curds  of  snow, 

My  furtive  eyes  upon  the  sunny  door. 

Wilt  stay,  my  cloudling?     Here  thou  still  canst  breathe 

Thy  heavenly  meadows.     Sleeping  on  my  breast, 

Thy  playmates  more  than  mortal  still  may  wreathe 

Unearthly  charms  about  thee.     Dear  my  guest, 

What  sweeter  place  than  this  where  dwells 

The  mountain  violet  with  thine  asphodels? 


19 


XIV 

THE  wind's  old  wine  was  in  my  heart  that  day 

I  ran  through  brake  and  laurel  by  the  road 

Where  dumb  as  pride  you  passed.    Thought  I  to  play 

The  dryad  spy,  then  must  you  be  a  god  ! 

Softly  I  rustled,  lightly  leapt  and  clomb, 

And  glanced  'tween  leaves  to  see  if  shadows  hung 

Still  darkly  on,  or  if  delight  swept  home 

To  eyes  and  brow, — so  teased  until  your  tongue 

Rewon  its  chanting  magic,  and  the  air 

Was  full  of  jewels  dropping,  burnished  so  ! 

Then  from  a  crystal  spring  white  feet  glanced  bare, 

With  red  drops  trickling.     "  Stain  upon  that  snow! " 

An  instant,  and  your  lips  those  rubies  wore; 

Then  lips  of  mine  could  not  deny  you  more. 


20 


XV 


SORDID  my  life,  they  say,  and  they  say  true, 
If  the  world's  favor  be  life's  only  sun. 
Here  in  the  firelight  where  I  bake  and  brew 
None  save  immortals  look  me  smiling  on. 
Ah,  only  Heaven's  vagrants!     If  I  durst 
Take  mine  own  chair  an  angel  must  get  up, 
And,  would  I  drink,  ere  I  may  ease  my  thirst 
Celestial  lips  make  bright  my  cabin  cup. 
But  no  silk  robes  trail  hither  for  my  sake, 
And  for  my  dear,  he  is  a  lord  so  poor 
His  dreams  are  bare  of  gold.     He  can  but  take 
A  thread  from  Fate,  and,  leaving  not  his  door, 
If  he  there  will,  beneath  a  threshold  vine, 
Spin  white  eternity  in  one  brief  line. 


21 


XVI 

No,  we'll  not  wrangle  for  a  little  world  ! 

That  world  below,  so  fevered,  full  of  ills. 

Think  not,  my  life,  my  song,  that  I'd  be  whirled 

Mid  those  mad  powers,  tho'  in  their  grinding  mills 

I  might,  a  prophet  passing,  drop  the  flame 

That  starts  millennium,  if  millennium  bread 

Builds  all  to  one  stale  measure.     Shall  we  maim 

The  rising  god?    Lop  off  the  giant's  head 

And  stilt  Tom  Thumb?    Forbid  the  living  ground 

Its  wild  variety,  till  smooth  as  lies 

A  magnate's  lawn,  at  last  the  earth  is  round? 

That  heavenward  trundling  with  our  polished  prize, 

God's  laughter  we  may  hear,  low,  lyrical, 

So  pleased  is  He  with  his  pretty  ball. 


22 


xvn 

YET  that  were  better  than  this  giant  sieve 

Wherein  mankind  is  rustled  to  and  fro, 

Saving  coarse  chaff,  while  wasting  winds  receive 

The  fine  and  precious  worth  so  shaken  through. 

Homeless,  we  can  not  see  above  a  roof; 

Naked,  'twere  Heaven  to  be  gowned  and  shod; 

Twixt  art  and  vision  ever  is  the  loaf; 

Fed,  clad,  and  housed,  still  do  we  dwarf  our  god, 

Concerned  to  keep  nor  be  as  others  bare. 

Oh,  break  the  monstrous  mesh  with  wisdom's  flail 

That  tosses  chaff  and  living  grain  doth  spare, 

Till,  where  loss  ached,  life  surge  imperial, 

And  men  as  mountains  be,  lifting  to  skies 

Unshrouded,  shining  inequalities! 


23 


xvin 

BUT  thou  dost  draw  me  deeper  in  the  nook 
Time  makes  for  lovers  in  an  hourless  grove, 
Folding  the  world  away,  a  weary  book, 
To  read  me  still  the  unwearying  book  of  love. 
Ay,  dear  my  all,  why  should  we  haste  and  waste, 
And  restless  toss  on  action's  turbid  bed, 
Fearing  too  early  sleep,  when  chokes  at  last 
With  opiate  dust  all  Being's  fountain-head? 
Utopias  died  for,  must  they  too  not  die? 
And  even  the  Tree  of  Life  with  shrunken  boughs 
Shake  with  death-shudder  earth  and  hell  and  sky, 
Meeting  the  winter  that  no  spring  shall  rouse? 
But  hold  me  close,  for  stirs  my  heart  in  sleep 
To  walk  with  those  who  late  do  work  and  weep. 


24 


IV 


XIX 


IN  light  transfigured  who  can  more  than  shine? 

Where  banquets  God,  can  more  than  silent  feast? 

The  unwrit  wonder  passes:  shall  we  pine, 

With  fumbling  pen  behind  an  echo  ceased? 

When  frail  words  break  'tis  music  to  be  dumb; 

For  lesser  cadence  is  the  singing  line; 

Not  for  Creation's  rhythms  that  cageless  hum 

When  nerves  are  boughs  of  fire  round  veins  that  twine 

Like  smothered  winds.     Content  us,  love,  to  let 

Torn  Heaven  through  us  fare,  though  but  to  break 

And  leave  us  with  no  mark  that  men  may  set 

On  reason's  hills.     Content,  for  Life  must  make 

The  wild  birth  hers.     What  is  her  poetry 

But  madness  masked  in  Beauty's  charity? 


27 


XX 


LOVE  broken  lies,  a  tassel  of  the  wind 

Caught  on  my  breast.    Now  must  he  hear  my  song. 

My  timid  reed  can  shyest  music  find 

That  bold  pipes  miss.    Though  dawn  to  dawn  be  long, 

Brief  runs  the  dark  and  light  by  charmed  ears  flowing; 

Each  Hour  prints  her  light  foot,  a  little  dell, — 

Too  small  for  step  of  Care,  like  Titan  growing, — 

Where  greenly  lapped  we  hide  from  noisy  swell 

Of  morn's  flamingoes  rippling  up  the  gray, 

From  noon's  gold  trump  that  makes  our  shut  lids 

tremble, 

From  eve's  horizon  dust  and  sunset  bray, 
From  synod  winkings  when  cold  stars  assemble. 
With  face  of  flowers  shall  the  minutes  go, 
While  soft  my  notes,  like  laden  bees,  drift  low. 


28 


XXI 


WHAT  is  this  thirst  no  cup  we  drain  can  slake? 
What  royal  touch  may  heal  our  troubling  blood 
Till  salve  and  crutch  are  spurned,  and  in  our  wake 
The  air  is  blest?     0  Time,  when  shall  unhood 
The  highlands  of  our  yearning?     Echoless 
Long  since  the  pagan  fields,  once  travel-kissed 
And  musical  with  feet;  and  long  we  press 
These  pastures  chill  that  climb  from  mist  to  mist 
On  stairways  of  dead  gods.     What  if  the  end 
Is  but  to  end  not?     Whispering  fir  and  pine 
Shall  fool  us  still,  and  on  the  peak  no  Friend 
Step  from  cloud  bastions  with  the  wings  and  wine? 
But,  dear  my  dear,  what  way  can  be  too  long 
If  in  our  shadows  shelter  Love  and  Song? 


29 


XXII 

I  AM  a  tree  that  puts  out  little  boughs 

Dreaming  of  harvest  and  a  mellow  moon; 

But  Love,  who  owns  me  by  my  many  vows, 

Comes  nibbling,  nibbling,  late  and  oft  and  soon. 

I  like  his  lips  upon  my  tender  leaves; 

'Tis  joy  to  make  him  feasts  of  honey-buds; 

But  doubts  come  trembling,  and  a  fear  me  grieves,- 

I  may  stand  barren  in  the  laden  woods. 

And  Love  himself  some  day  may  seek  my  shade 

To  find  but  bony  branches  waiting  him. 

What  shelter  could  I  give  him  weary  laid? 

What  succoring  fruit  from  any  staring  limb? 

Ah,  Love,  do  not  my  harvest  dream  devour, 

Lest  thou  know  famine  in  my  barren  hour. 


30 


XXIII 

0  GOD,  what  tumult  buried  is,  unguessed 
As  strife  that  rends  a  smiling-windowed  house, 
Within  that  hidden  room,  a  woman's  breast, 
When  agony  on  guard  must  make  fair  bows 
To  casual  fortune  !    So  communing  I 
Stood  'neath  the  pines  that  warmed  a  little  hill; 
Smiled  on  the  hours,  and  gave  the  empty  sky 
A  soul  of  hope,  for  one  would  come  and  fill 
The  tender  region  with  a  sweeter  breath, 
Though  all  the  air  was  Spring's;  or  he  would  put 
On  warrior  beauty,  victor  be  whose  faith 
No  rout  e'er  knew;  or  anything  but — but! 
Then  sank  I,  sudden  stone,  no  stir  or  start, 
As  loomed  the  heart  of  shadows  o'er  my  heart. 


31 


XXIV 

BUT  came  that  later  eve  beneath  that  sky ! 
Where  dropped  the  scented  circlet  of  the  pines 
Around  me  mute,  the  moon's  slow  hours  went  by. 
No  more  my  lips  would  touch  the  wine  of  wines; 
Renouncement,  palest  star  o'er  mortals  set, 
Crept  to  me  cold  as  light  upon  a  grave; 
Sole  lamp  for  me,  no  other  would  be  lit 
By  God  or  Life  or  Time,  however  brave 
Might  rise  the  last  despair.     Then  out  of  night 
Your  laughter  covered  me  like  ointment  spilled; 
Around  me  pealed  your  words,  a  torrent  light, 
And  my  sick  soul  rose  up,  virgin  and  healed, 
On  radiance  walking.     0,  as  Heaven  had  broke, 
And  dropped  her  little  stars,  you  golden  spoke  ! 


32 


XXV 

BESIDE  an  oak,  sprung  in  deformity, 
Curved  backward  to  the  ground  in  mighty  pain, 
Today  we  paused,  nor  dared  I  look  on  thee 
Until  I  saw  how  straight  it  leapt  again, 
Bold  to  the  skies,  leaf -fingers  on  the  blue, 
As  proud  alive  as  any  thought  of  God, 
Sipping  the  sun  as  heaven's  favored  do, 
Sending  the  light's  tide  whispers  to  the  sod. 
Then  vowed  my  eyes  to  thine  no  conduits  dark 
Feeding  thy  veins  from  tragic  under-earth 
Should  hold  thee  bowed;  the  regions  of  the  lark 
For  thee  should  open,  thee  by  second  birth 
Made  heir  and  comrade  of  the  sky  that  bides 
No  pulse  too  weak  for  joy's  eternal  tides. 


35 


XXVI 

THE  pasture  is  a  forest  where  we  lie; 

The  slender  grasses  rise,  a  wilderness 

With  mammoth  bars  that  cage  the  captive  sky, 

As  jungle-deep  thy  cheek  to  mine  I  press. 

One  clover  blossom  is  a  blackened  sun 

That  threatens  now  earth's  summer-sweetened  face, 

One  humble-bee  rocks  high  his  nettle  throne 

Vast  as  he  were  of  Saturn's  fallen  race. 

So  may  it  be  that  the  soul's  sunken  eye, 

By  earth  disvantaged,  fooled  by  mountain  tears, 

Makes  height  and  depth  too  weary  deep  and  high, 

And  blinding  minutes  swell  to  burdened  years. 

For  God's  great  spaces  not  a  breath  have  we; 

The  wave  we  climb  is  larger  than  the  sea. 


36 


XXVII 

AGAINST  a  tree  deep  rooted  past  the  fear 

Of  any  winds,  yet  by  the  mad  wind  swayed, 

I  lean  my  body  weary  with  the  sheer 

Climb  from  the  valley.     Far  the  huge  hills  fade, 

Thin  ghosts  of  storm.     Thrilled,  fearless  as  the  tree, 

I  move  with  its  brave  rhythm,  as  one  might  swing 

In  wildly  sweet,  adventuring  ecstasy 

O'er  an  abyss  on  an  archangel's  wing. 

Could  I  thus  stay  thee,  hold  thee,  0  my  dear, 

With  mighty  roots  of  mine  when  tempests  beat, 

Give  thee  thy  storms,  the  sky  a  girdle  wear, 

Yet  ever  safe,  how  godly  great  and  sweet 

Would  my  heart  grow  !     Faint  heart  that  offers  thee 

A  straw,  a  reed,  a  trembling  willow  tree  ! 


37 


XXVIII 

"  THINK  not  I  love  thee  less  because  the  less 
Each  day  I  love  the  earth  that  still  is  fair, 
And  that  my  lips  grow  paler  as  they  press 
Thy  brow,  thine  eyes,  thy  tossed  dusk  of  hair. 
Far  shores  sweet  voices  have,  and  I  have  heard 
Sounds  from  a  shore  so  far  no  dream  divining 
May  coast  its  wonder,  and  my  veins  are  stirred 
With  palms  that  tremble  there,  to  no  eye  shining. 
These  violets  that  sweet  my  fingers  make 
For  having  plucked  them,  fairer  doubles  have 
That  I  with  fairer  hands  stoop  down  and  take 
Unto  my  heart.     Thou'lt  find  them  on  my  grave. 
Oh,  grieve  not !     Herbs  that  heal  us  first  must  die; 
And  may  I  dead  heal  thee  immortally  ! " 


XXIX 

So  sang  I  when  the  sunset  drew  my  breath 

Into  itself  upon  the  far  world's  edge, 

And  touched  me  with  the  dream  that  men  call  death. 

So  sang  I  softly  by  your  window  ledge, 

While  you  within  dropped  tears  upon  a  book 

You  did  not  read;  then  coming  out  the  door, 

Three  snowflake  kisses  from  my  lips  you  took, 

And,  palely  as  a  priest  might  vow,  you  swore 

By  Pity's  bosom  and  by  Mercy's  tear, 

You  would  not  stay  me,  would  not  make  me  late 

At  holy  feast  on  any  sun  or  sphere; 

Nay,  would  not  hold  me  with  one  kiss's  weight, 

But  would  forthspeed  when  you  my  cold  hand  lost 

To  clasp  it  first  where  God  himself  stands  host. 


39 


VI 


XXX 

THE  tower-star  that  lit  the  peaks  of  soul 
And  all  the  encircling  sea  of  tribute  dreams, 
Has  fallen  to  the  waves.     Now  fathoms  roll 
Unanswering  where  ten  thousand  loyal  beams 
Leapt  to  their  lofty  centre.    Slow  I  pass 
Where,  choosing  me,  God  late  a  lantern  swung, 
My  numb,  blind  feet  now  fumbling  the  morass 
With  not  a  quivering  gleam  about  them  hung. 
Some  flowers  there  be  that  nightly  earthward  lean, 
Yet  with  their  sleeping  lids  feel  for  the  East 
Where  dawn  shall  be,  nor  weary  dark  may  wean 
Their  dream  from  fealty.     For  me  no  feast 
Of  day  will  break.    Be  shut  my  eyes  or  ope, 
There  is  no  East.    Nightbound  I  creep  and  grope. 


43 


XXXI 

MY  Carmel  withers  'neath  the  foot  of  Spring, 

And  perished  is  my  house  of  ivory; 

My  lake  of  Edom  is  a  brackish  thing; 

No  more  my  mountains  drop  sweet  wine  to  me; 

There  is  no  song  from  any  temple  coming, 

Oh,  not  a  Bethel  stone  for  my  sunk  head  ! 

Beneath  my  altar  is  the  banewort  blooming, 

A  bitter  salt  is  on  my  holy  bread. 

My  aspiration  that  as  eagle  flew 

Through  conquered  skies,  falls  plumb  and  leaden  still; 

Ambition's  fires  are  dead  of  tearful  dew; 

I  stir  cold  ashes  when  I  urge  my  will. 

Love  was  the  sun  I  read  all  meanings  by, 

And  called  the  habit  life;  that  broke,  I  die. 


44 


XXXII 

THE  tulips  make  the  month  a  rajah's  walk; 

Turbanned  the  season  comes,  a  nodding  Ind; 

Young  dandelions  squat  upon  their  stalk 

Like  children  at  a  show;  the  clouds  float  thinned, 

A  broken  troop  beneath  the  bannered  blue; 

But  no  heart  beats  in  any  flowering  thing; 

No  little  flames  lie  in  cold  eyes  of  dew. 

By  Heaven's  care  of  man,  this  is  not  Spring  ! 

The  earth's  in  coffin,  and  these  imps  are  called 

To  paint  her  cheeks  and  wreathe  her  dead,  gold  hair; 

And  there's  no  mourner,  no  wild  drops  that  scald 

A  paling  face,  as  through  the  tearless  air 

Her  chill,  rouged  body  drifts  to  charnel  shore; 

For  Love  died  first,  and  Grief  can  weep  no  more. 


45 


XXXIII 

SHALL  I  go  back,  as  one  whom  Fate  retrieves, 
Where  friends  are  waiting  with  forbearing  smile, 
True  hands  held  out,  that  touch  me  like  dead  leaves, 
So  tender  they,  and  I  so  numb  the  while? 
May  be  their  souls  are  staggering  as  mine  own, 
But  bold  they  walk,  and  laugh  in  Life's  warm  ear 
As  I  can  not,  so  feeble  have  I  grown, 
My  small  horizon's  arc  set  in  a  tear. 
Fate,  loosen  me  !    Is  it  not  time  to  go 
When  no  thing  holds  me  but  thy  wilful  grip? 
When  I,  a  child  of  smiles  who  sought  to  show 
No  cup  too  bitter  for  the  chrismed  lip, 
Shudder  from  touch  of  joy,  rude,  buoyant,  crass? 
And  wounds  seem  gates  to  God?    Then  let  me  pass. 


46 


XXXIV 

WHEN  failed  I,  love,  in  what  thou  badst  be  done? 

When  foundst  thou  me  as  now,  slow,  blundering? 

Name  me  the  desert  that  I  fell  upon; 

Where  is  the  depth  we  crossed  not,  wing  to  wing? 

What  mount  of  venture,  wild  with  jut  and  spur, 

Heard  thy  swift  step  while  I  kept  lowland  home? 

At  lips  of  stars  who  stood  interpreter? 

Un wrote  and  writ  in  sun  their  sombre  doom? 

But  this  dark  last,  this  thing  impossible, 

This  hard  command  beyond  my  wizardry, 

Lift  from  my  heart.     Tis  not  love's  miracle. 

Upon  my  struggling  pulse  thou  'st  laid  the  sea. 

No  more  I  eat  of  magic  meat  and  bread. 

Ask  me  not  this — to  live  when  thou  art  dead. 


VII 


XXXV 

I  COME  again  where,  like  strung  jewels,  run 
The  highland  waters  ;  where  for  me  the  hills 
Throw  back  their  veils  like  virgins  that  have  won 
Celestial  gates.     The  moss-lapped  season  spills 
Green  treasure  over  footprints  that  I  seek, 
But  tears  will  find  them  'neath  the  deepest  cover, 
And  I  may  lay  me  down  and  warm  my  cheek 
With  happy  sod  where  passed,  as  sun,  my  lover. 
Ah,  not  alone  these  fragrant  heights  he  pressed, 
These  honey-suckle  ways  up  granite  steeps 
Where  earth  in  tender  emerald  has  drest 
Her  bones  that  pillar  heaven.     Time,  that  now  sleeps 
Like  poppied  fire,  once  played  the  etcher's  part 
On  all  these  paths,  his  pen  upon  my  heart. 


51 


XXXVI 

TODAY  I  went  among  the  mountain  folk 
To  hear  the  gentle  talk  most  dear  to  me. 
I  saw  slow  tears,  and  tenderness  that  woke 
From  sternest  bed  to  light  a  lamp  for  thee. 
And  "  Is  it  true?  "  hope  asked  and  asked  again, 
And  "  It  is  true,"  was  all  that  I  could  say, 
And  pride  rose  over  love  to  hide  gray  pain 
As  eyes  tears  might  ungrace  were  turned  away. 
So  much  they  loved  thee  I  was  half  decoyed 
By  human  warmth  to  feel  thee  near,  but  when 
I  put  my  hand  out  all  the  earth  was  void, 
And  vanished  even  these  near-weeping  men. 
Thus  each  new  time  I  find  that  thou  art  gone, 
Anew  do  I  survive  the  world,  alone. 


52 


XXXVII 

EYES,  voice  and  smile,  thou  didst  as  Heaven  spend ! 

Hid  in  a  nook  of  Autumn  once  we  came 

To  a  brown  forest  road.     Lone  in  a  bend 

A  cottage  rose,  where  stately  sat  a  dame 

Gazing  from  age's  ruin.     With  soft  tread 

Her  gloom  you  parted;  magically  glowed 

Her  lost  days  from  your  eyes;  round  her  you  spread 

The  vanished  ring  where  Knight  and  Beauty  rode, 

Your  gallant  tongue  her  memory's  chariot, 

Till,  rising  tall,  she  leaned  her  cheek,  bright  then, 

Proud  with  youth's  flush,  and  said,  "  Fair  son,  this 

spot 

A  prince  once  kissed.     Now  does  he  pass  again." 
So  lightly  drew  thou  pain  from  many  a  life, 
While  in  thine  own  heart  turned  and  turned  the  knife. 


53 


XXXVIII 

THOU  art  all  soul,  all  airy  loveliness, 

And  thou  art  gone;  but  still  thy  wounds  I  bind, 

Still  lift  thy  head  and  with  cool  leaves  caress 

Thy  brow  of  pain  and  fire;  still  strive  to  find 

The  healing  herb  that  never  grew  for  thee; 

Still  wrestle  with  dark  gods  for  thy  white  dream, 

And  challenge  Fate  with  every  artery, 

While  tears  on  our  two  faces  make  one  stream. 

Nay,  drained  now  of  life's  ache,  thou  goest  free, 

Outside  of  time,  this  jail;  dost  give  thy  nod 

To  sunsets  that  the  sun  looks  west  to  see; 

Knowing  at  last  thyself,  myself,  and  God; 

And  with  a  sign  so  overpayst  thy  debt 

All  I  have  tendered  seems  vain  counterfeit. 


54 


XXXIX 

THE  music-mannered  stream  that  silverly 
Wound  round  our  lives  in  thread  unbreakable 
Till  they  made  one  where  life's  far  sources  be, 
Flows  by  me  now,  an  azure  lyric  still; 
Still  keeps  its  mystic  tongue,  its  soul  that  knows 
Unwhispering  pools  of  rest,  as  love  may  keep 
Unsounded  depths  yet  gossip  seem  to  those 
Who  listen  but  with  ears.     0  stream,  I  sleep 
Still  hearing  thy  low  cymbals,  -sounds  that  break 
With  shattered  secrets  of  thy  leaping  way 
Whose  tale  unbaffled  would  these  mountains  shake. 
Thou  that  wert  dewdrop  and  wilt  be  the  sea, 
Beauty's  swift  question,  wilt  thou  now  not  pause, 
Silent  for  him  whose  heart  thine  answer  was? 


55 


XL 


How  often  on  some  bough  arched  o'er  thy  breast, 
Its  longing  curve  just  foiled  of  thine  embrace, 
Where  mid  the  leaves  thy  murmurs  made  a  nest, 
We've  sat  with  down-compelled  gaze  to  trace 
Spirit  that  passed  untraceable  and  learn 
The  voice  of  motion  !     With  our  eyes  we  heard, 
And  laid  a  hush  on  ears  that  served  no  turn 
In  that  deep  hour  when  Deity  unsphered 
Of  all  His  worlds  a  parle  with  love  to  keep. 
Still  art  thou  kind,  my  stream.     Companionly, 
When  all  the  wildwood  lies  in  midnight  sleep, 
Thou  bringst  the  glistening  bough,  the  mystery; 
But  for  thy  golden  lover  no  more  hears, 
Thou  too  art  widowed  and  leav'st  me  thy  tears. 


66 


VIII 


XLI 


0  WHAT  a  lover  must  thou  be,  old  Time, 

With  so  much  beauty  to  thy  bosom  folded  ! 

The  queens  that  reigned  o'er  monarchies  of  rhyme, 

And  by  new  worship  ever  newly  moulded; 

With  all  the  Helens  of  the  lyreless  Troys, 

Sisters  of  Laura,  Beatrice,  Eloise, 

Who  shone  on  worshippers  denied  the  voice 

To  set  their  name  'mong  song's  divinities  ! 

And  happy  thou,  my  Dear,  who  now  dost  share 

The  secrets  of  Time's  eyes.     0,  smile  thou  must, 

As  Pity  smileth,  seeing  mortals  here 

Laying  another  song  on  Helen's  dust. 

But  of  thy  joy  I  dream  unjealously, 

Knowing  in  all  thy  loves  thou  lovest  me. 


59 


XLII 

AH  me,  if  in  some  laurel  dale  unscarred 

By  more  than  trail  of  nymph  or  nibbling  deer, 

A  smiling  boy  might  from  the  leafy  guard 

Of  tender  branches  bravely  on  me  peer 

With  eyes  whose  steadfast  bronze  yet  told  of  storm, 

Stilled  as  the  seas  are  stilled,  deep  as  the  deep, 

Eyes  that  but  one  could  father,— one  yet  warm 

Because  that  small  lad  lived  to  hold  and  keep 

The  gift  of  flame  God  could  not  choose  let  die, — 

How  I  would  clasp  him  while  his  wonder  stared, 

And,  wife  and  queen,  bend  me  handmaidenly 

If  then  his  mother  passed, — she  who  had  dared 

Death's  house  to  enter  of  wild  love's  accord 

And  ransom  gain  I  won  not  for  my  lord  ! 


60 


XLIII 

WHAT  fiery  dust  the  stolid  earth  must  hold, 
So  many  passions  have  in  her  been  laid  ! 
Lights  she  her  Autumn  colors  at  that  mould, 
The  secret  of  her  flame  of  secrets  made? 
Does  that  which  ate  the  heart  devour  the  sky 
From  hills  like  rubies  heaped,  denying  even 
A  grave's  dear  gloom  to  pain  that  sought  to  lie 
Covered  with  gentle  dark's  untroubling  heaven? 
Yet  must  I  love  thee,  Autumn,  love  thee  more 
Than  in  past  days  of  worship  at  thy  fires  ; 
The  kindled  heart  that  did  with  me  adore 
Hath  fed  thee  deathless  fuel ;  when  thy  pyres 
Resurgent  ache,  then  must  my  eyelids  burn 
Falling  'neath  kisses  that  with  thee  return. 


61 


XLIV 

BUT  greenwood  clocks  are  pulsing  and  the  year 

Wakes  with  arbutus  ;  now  the  hillsides  wear 

Their  daintiest  necklace  ;  now  a  voice  I  hear, 

"  Love-runs-a-laughing  :  little  flower,  bear 

That  name  for  us."    Soon  shall  a  darling  crowd 

Make  fairy  bridges  for  the  days  that  tread 

Song-ringed  past  orchid  queens,  past  gypsies  loud 

As  circus  bells,  past  hoods  of  blue  and  red, 

To  meet  our  pearl  azalea,— tali  and  white 

Nun  of  the  forest  rising  holily 

By  sisters  flaming.     Oh,  but  from  a  height 

Where  leaves  blew  back  to  let  the  new  world  by, 

Today  I  heard  the  bobolink's  clear  ring 

And  did  not  smile.     Forgive  me,  my  love's  Spring  ! 


62 


XLV 

OUR  locust  by  the  water  trembles  white, 
And  o'er  the  stream  her  foamy  welcome  swells ; 
Then  falls  your  softest  laughter,  floating  light 
As  tho'  a  breeze  had  put  on  fairy  bells  ; 
The  laugh  you  gave  when,  glad  discoverers, 
We  hunted  home  a  scented  wing  of  air 
And  found  the  tree  that  once  among  the  firs 
Of  Horeb  hill  made  there  a  mount  of  myrrh 
And  over  Tyre  a  haunting  girdle  wound 
Like  odor  in  a  dream.     Ghost-delicate, 
Again  that  fragrant  wing  uplifts  the  ground, 
Whilst  primal  dust  is  young  as  thou  in  fate. 
But  as  dead  worlds  fair  in  thy  laughter  bloomed, 
Not  in  my  sighs,  but  smiles,  live  thou  untombed. 


63 


XLVI 

LET  not  a  picture  drawn  on  eyelids  shut 

Fill  all  my  world  ;  but  may  I,  open  gazing, 

No  symbol  lose  that  liberal  God  hath  put 

Before  my  chastened  eyes,  their  burden  raising 

To  faith's  pure  height  where  burdens  winged  run, 

An  angel  breed,  to  keep  our  feet  from  stones. 

0  may  I  as  the  sea  that,  seeking  one, 

Finds  on  its  breast  a  thousand  trembling  moons, 

Hold  thee,  my  love,  in  all  mine  eyes  embrace 

Of  loveliness  !     As  bright  through  channelled  moss 

The  forest  water  winds,  be  now  a  grace 

Enwoven  for  me  through  Nature's  every  dross  ; 

And  touch  of  bending,  sweet  immensity 

Make  my  least  day  orb  mystical  with  thee  ! 


64 


IX 


XLVII 

HERE  is  no  beauty  I  may  look  upon 

And  think  not  of  thee  ;  for  all  ways  we  went, 

And  every  way  did  bud  or  jewel  own 

That  for  a  moment  made  thine  eyes  content 

And  spill  sweet  sun  to  mine.     When  low  winds  lift 

The  milky  bellwoods,  windowing  stealthily 

The  leaf-ceiled  dells  where  sit  in  magic  thrift 

The  spinners  of  the  green, — when  lone  I  see 

The  first  white  trilium  like  a  poised,  lost  gull 

In  th'  emerald  glen, — shall  not  my  pulses  stop, 

Waiting  for  thine?     Of  fatal  peace  as  full 

As  still,  blue  seas  seen  from  a  mountain  top 

Is  thought  of  thee  afar.     Near,  nearer,  dear, 

Or  I  must  drop  me  to  those  fathoms  clear. 


67 


XLVIII 

THOU  lovedst  thy  earth,  and  wilt  not  haste  from  her  ; 

But  wilt  go  lingering  over  valley  pools, 

Like  children's  eyes,  where  soft  fern-lashes  stir ; 

Go  lingering  where  the  last  high  peak  o'errules 

The  thickening  ranges  ;  stay  to  greet,  not  spurn 

The  alms-fed  moon,  that  beggar  of  the  skies  ; 

Still  looking  back  till  thou  at  last  must  turn 

Where  it  is  morning  unto  Prospero's  eyes  ; 

The  while  my  thoughts,  a  lured  and  breathless  band, 

Struggling  to  reach  thee,  grow  most  strangely  fair,— 

Fair  as  the  coasts  where  we  may  never  land, — 

But  lose  thee  not,  and  I'd  content  me  here 

To  wait  my  hour,  if  I  might  fear  no  more 

To  hear,  far  in  the  skies,  a  shutting  door. 


XLIX 

BELOVED,  if  I  keep  my  spirit  fed, 

Hear  not  the  rustling  world,  forget  her  bays, 

Naught  caring  if  I  go  unlaurelled 

In  eyes  of  fortune,  so  I  fill  my  days 

With  thoughts  that  bud  and  bloom  for  heavenly  wear, 

Sending  my  soul  to  seek  thy  country  out, 

Spending  still  hours  in  wondering  of  thee  there, 

And  making  vision  sweet  of  every  doubt, 

Wilt  thou  not  come  some  perfect  eve  to  touch, 

As  might  a  god,  with  visitant  fair  feet 

The  meadows  where  I  wait,  nor  scorn  too  much 

The  habits  of  my  earth,  but  even  let 

Thy  hand  be  first  upon  a  daisy  nigh, 

And  stand  with  me  to  watch  the  swallows  fly? 


69 


How  gently  I  would  move  by  thee,  and  strive 

To  make  my  step  as  noiseless  as  thine  own  ! 

And  we  should  find  the  old  dreams  still  alive, 

And  not  a  dead  leaf  on  our  altars  blown. 

Ah,  farther  !    To  that  ambered,  orient  sea 

We  never  saw  with  mortal  eyes  awake, 

Though  in  our  sleep  it  rippled  ;  glidingly 

To  all  fair  places  carried  like  an  ache 

In  our  blind  breasts  ;  and  sometime  rest  us  by 

Old  temples  carved  as  though  the  fingered  Dawn 

Religion  were  and  wrought  in  ivory 

Gifts  for  the  God  of  Light ;  so  fair  the  moon 

Might  there  forget  to  pass,  as  we,  0  love ! 

Below  in  wonder,  as  the  moon  above. 


70 


LI 


THEN  should  I  seek  again  a  toiler's  place 

Where  Life,  grown  faint  and  human,  strains  to  lift 

Above  her  strife  a  lit  and  lyric  face, 

And  minutes  pass  as  spears,  a  wound  their  gift, — 

Thou  wouldstnot  leave  me  guideless? — thou  who  needst 

To  build  no  more  the  stoic  barricade 

'Gainst  scathe  of  word  or  winds?    Nay,  thou  who 

feedst 

Thy  soul  at  last,  unblinded,  undismayed, 
Upon  the  truth  'twas  madness  here  to  taste, 
Wilt  teach  me  even  that  savorous  peril  eat, 
And  with  me  lingering  make  the  fleshless  feast, 
Till  that  dim,  upland  ground  that  loves  thy  feet 
Findeth  a  rival  in  these  cast-off  lands. 
0  now,  beloved,  now  !    Thine  eyes,  thy  hands  ! 


71 


LII 


MY  prayers  are  thee !    But,  Dear,  what  means  this 
thing? 

That  we  do  walk  together  as  a  wind 
Heedless  of  garden  gates  where  sigh  and  cling 
The  little  roses  that  once  sought  to  bind 
Our  hearts  to  time  ;  making  no  pause  beside 
Blue,  curling  waters  where  our  thoughts  like  doves 
Drifted  to  wild-leaf  nest ;  smiling  where  cried 
The  tragic  marshes  with  strange  shadow  loves 
That  bound  us  from  the  sun.    The  maples  burn 
Their  April  wicks  of  passion  ;  willows  yet 
Light  their  slim  candles  at  the  dawn's  fire-urn ; 
But  here  is  glow  that  no  Spring  ever  lit ; 
Nor  hills  of  vision  where  we  fainting  fell 
May  hold  us  now,  so  pale  their  miracle. 


72 


LIII 

No  longer  backward,  treading  a  lost  dream, 

But  where  the  Future  lifts  her  morning  stole  ; 

Past  nations  that  embracing  know  one  name, 

Past  faces  like  the  flowers  of  one  soul, 

God's  soul,  humanity.     Bells  never  choired 

From  time's  old  sweetness  with  the  sweet  of  these 

Making  clear  song  of  all  that  dim  aspired 

In  our  old  struggles,  barren  ecstasies, 

Tears  and  despairs.    0  lordliest  Love,  that  keepst 

Eternal  pact  with  Life,  naught  can  discrown 

Thee  of  one  bud  of  flame  howe'er  thou  weepst ; 

For  though  these  bodies  dear  are  beaten  down, 

As  ocean  triumphs  by  her  broken  waves, 

Thy  tidal  breath  breaks  warm  above  thy  graves. 


73 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

Books  not  returned  on  time  are  subject  to  a  fin*  nf 


SEP . 


10m-4,'23 


YB  53 1 72 


*^T**^f 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


